


Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Yu Yu Hakusho
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Asian Character, Canon - Anime, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, Kink, M/M, POV Character of Color, Trichophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-06
Updated: 2009-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karasu indulges his obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/), who gave me this kink. The title for this fic is from a line in "Porphyria's Lover" by Robert Browning.

Karasu has never hidden what he was — the pretense is a waste of his time — but Kurama remains so still in his arms and there's a hopeful hitch to Kurama's breath as if between each one, Karasu will have changed. It makes Karasu chuckle softly, fingers hovering over Kurama's skin, ignoring the serene stillness of Kurama's muscles as he gathers up handfuls of Kurama's lovely red hair.

It's so human with its patches of dryness, with its split ends and frayed edges, but Karasu finds it delightful, what it could be, what it once was when Kurama was not trapped in this human shell.

"You still fear my touch," Karasu says casually, voice tinged with amusement. Before Kurama can speak, he softly continues, a sultry breath of air sending strands of Kurama's hair fluttering back into the mass as he says, "But you still want to know it."

Karasu watches as Kurama's fingers twitch in his lap. "I can assure you that I do not."

"Must we play this game, Kurama?" Karasu's fingers close around Kurama's hair, and he pulls, only slightly. "I thought we could have some honesty between us."

"Because you do not like my answer does not mean that I am not being honest," Kurama smoothly counters.

When Karasu tugs harder on Kurama's hair in response, Kurama rewards him with a slight wince that makes Karasu continue to pull until the line of Kurama's throat is exposed and Kurama's lips part in a pained breath. Karasu's fingers hover over Kurama's neck, inching closer and closer until the space between them is negligible and he can feel the heat radiating from Kurama's skin.

"Have you tired of me already?" Kurama carefully asks, his voice strained but calm.

"You're my favorite," he says, easing the tight grip he has on Kurama's hair, his fingertips caressing over the strands as he twists them around his wrist.

"Yes." But before Karasu can reply, Kurama straightens in the chair and calmly continues, "And you've made it quite clear what I am to expect in somehow winning your favor."

Karasu yanks Kurama's hair, jerking Kurama's head back far enough so he can see all the emotions that helplessly filter through Kurama's too human eyes. "Do you want to die?" he asks with undisguised amusement.

"Not particularly." It is difficult for Kurama to talk at this angle, but he manages, his tone infused with a calm that Karasu finds delightful only in the way he plans to break it. "I found it to be an unpleasant experience."

The statement surprises a laugh out of Karasu, and he briefly loosens his grip. When he feels Kurama's hair sliding over his palms as Kurama once more straightens, he closes his fingers around the strands and jerks Kurama's head back, his mouth hovering near Kurama's ear as he softly says, "And so it will be again."

Karasu watches Kurama's lips part, watches the pink tip of his tongue wet his lips before he speaks. "I have no intention of dying."

He traces the air over Kurama's mouth, motions his thumb as if he's going to rub it along the curve of Kurama's bottom lip. "Which will make my victory over you all the more entertaining."

Kurama presses further into the chair, speaking slow and cautious to avoid brushing the pad of Karasu's thumb. "Your confidence could prove to be your undoing."

Karasu draws his hand back and curls his fingers in Kurama's hair. "Or yours," he says, relishing the slip and slide of the strands against his palms.

Kurama remains curiously silent as Karasu combs his fingers through Kurama's hair, pausing to carefully undo each knot that he snags in his efforts. Kurama's humanity is unfortunate, he thinks, when he sees the breakage, the damage of strands that should shine, but Karasu is determined to make do with it.

He cups handfuls of Kurama's hair, watching the snake and fall of it over his wrists and hands. As Karasu presses it against the swell of his erection, he imagines coiling the length of it around Kurama's pale neck and squeezing until Kurama pants with fear, until distress has him reaching for Karasu's skin, grasping it with the desperation of a lover.

And Karasu would be gracious; he would replace ignorance with knowledge. So as Kurama's skin and muscle burst from the pleasure of Karasu's touch, blood would mingle with tears would mingle with the faint moans of desire and sated pleasure.

Kurama would be still, so still, slumped in this chair, bleeding and broken and beautiful. Then Karasu would lean down, fingertips caressing across Kurama's neck and over the arch of his cheek, which would be stained with tears and blood, and Karasu would press a tender kiss to Kurama's pale lips. In the end, his gentle affection will have become love.

Karasu exhales a soft moan, his climax spreading through him in a heady, warm rush, a shiver racing up his spine as he spends himself in the confines of his pants. He makes a satisfied hum of pleasure, holding on to that last image of Kurama dead before he opens his eyes to find Kurama very much alive and surprisingly calm.

"Now that our business is concluded," Kurama coolly says, "I have other matters which require my attention."

Karasu pretends to pet his fingers down Kurama's cheek and watches tension tighten Kurama's muscles once more. "You'll know my touch soon enough, Kurama." He releases Kurama and takes a step back. "And you really should condition your hair. It's unfortunate that you don't take better care of it."

Kurama doesn't grace him with a response or even a backwards glance; he simply tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolls out the door, unaware of the broken strands of his hair still trapped in Karasu's fingers.


End file.
